Next Exit, Use Caution

by CW Browning

  Hawk finished going through the folders and set them aside. He pulled a metal box out of the safe and opened it, finding a stack of cash. a passport, birth certificate, social security card, and old driver’s licenses. Shaking his head, he closed the box and replaced everything in the safe exactly where he’d found it. Closing it, he spun the lock and stood up, looking around the closet.

  Clothes hung from the wrap-around railing, and shoes and boots were haphazardly balanced on two shoe racks. A stack of clear storage tubs took up one corner, holding what looked like linens. He turned to leave the closet and was just stepping out of the door when something caught his eyes. A black bag had slipped and fallen to the side, trapped between the wall and the clear storage tubs.

  Hawk raised an eyebrow and reached for the bag, frowning when he felt items inside. Carrying it out of the closet, he set it on the bed and looked inside. He pulled out a large manila envelope and glanced inside. Cash. Damon frowned and glanced back at the safe. Why did she have what looked like a couple thousand dollars in cash outside the safe? Especially when he already knew she kept cash inside the safe?

  He set the envelope aside and reached in to pull out a folder. Damon flipped it open and his eyebrows soared into his forehead when he found himself staring at John Smithe’s birth certificate.

  “What the...”

  He sorted through the documents in the folder, all John’s, the frown growing. Why did Stephanie have all John’s personal and confidential identity documents? And why weren’t they destroyed in the fire that destroyed everything else?

  Hawk set the folder down, his lips settling into a deep frown, and reached into the bag again to pull out a long, white envelope. His fingers felt something hard inside and he opened the envelope, tipping it. A diamond ring fell into his hand.

  Damon held it up, examining the ring. The band was white gold, twisted to look like vines. The vines separated and came up to hold a decently sized diamond solitaire.

  The realization came to him suddenly and Damon stared at what he instinctively knew was Alina’s engagement ring. Why did Stephanie have it?

  Hawk dropped the ring back into the envelope and stared at the small stack growing next to the bag. Why did Stephanie have any of this?

  He looked in the bag and saw a couple boxes of ammo and pulled out a Beretta. Beyond that, the bag was empty. Damon dropped the gun back into the bag and picked up the white envelope thoughtfully. This was all John’s. Yet, it was in Stephanie's closet. He pressed his lips together thoughtfully, staring at the collection of items. What joined them all together? It appeared to be a fairly random assortment. Cash, gun, ammo, old diamond ring, personal documents...not exactly a collection you would keep in a bag in a closet.

  Hawk’s eyes narrowed suddenly and he gathered the folder and envelopes together, putting them back into the bag. It wasn’t a collection you would keep in a closet, but it was certainly the types of things you would keep in a safe; or a safe deposit box.

  Damon put the bag back where he’d found it and quickly went through the rest of the bedroom. Nothing else of interest presented itself and he left the bedroom a few minutes later. He glanced at his watch, noting how long he’d been in the apartment, and went into the spare room. He did a quick, thorough search of the storage half of the room, then headed out of the condo and back to his motorcycle.

  Why did Stephanie have the contents of John’s safe deposit box in a bag in her closet? More importantly, why hadn’t she told Alina about the ring? If nothing else, wouldn’t she want to give her old friend the option of keeping it? Yet, Damon was positive that Alina knew nothing about any of it.

  Hawk climbed onto his motorcycle and pulled on his helmet. Was that everything? Or was there something else that wasn’t in the bag? Hawk stilled and stared unseeingly across the parking lot. Something like an external hard-drive with attachments sent by Dave Maschik from Iraq twelve years ago?

  Alina pressed her lips together and closed her eyes, counting slowly. When she reached ten, she opened her eyes. The offending sight was still here.

  “Angie!”

  Her voice bellowed through the house.

  “Yeah?” Angela’s voice was faint and muffled by the floor between them, coming from the dining room.

  “You want to come explain this?” Alina yelled down the second floor hallway.

  There was a long pause, then she heard Angela’s footsteps coming down the hall from the back of the house.

  “Explain what?” she called from the bottom of the stairs, her voice much louder now.

  “My bedroom.”

  Alina waited as Angela came up the steps and rounded the corner.

  “Oh that!” Angie exclaimed, coming down the hallway towards her. “I’m just trying to help you out.”

  Alina felt her eyelid start to twitch.

  “Help me out with what?” she bit out.

  Angela joined her in the bedroom door and looked surprised.

  “Getting laid, of course!” she said. “I honestly don’t know what’s wrong with you, but you have a perfectly delicious man who just keeps following you everywhere, and he slept on the couch last night!”

  Alina stared at her for a beat.

  “What?”

  “He did! I came down for a drink of water in the middle of night and he was asleep on the couch in the living room. Enough is enough. The tension between you two is insane.”

  Alina turned her attention back to her bedroom. She didn’t think she’d ever seen so many candles in one place. Every available surface was covered. It didn’t end there, unfortunately. Somewhere, somehow, Angela had unearthed just about every red pillow in the house and artfully arranged them on the bed, turning it into something out of a bad porn film. On her bedside table, a bottle of wine and two glasses were arranged next to a large, empty bowl.

  “What’s the bowl for?” Alina heard herself asking, even though she was sure she didn’t want to hear the answer.

  “Strawberries,” said Angela promptly. “That’s why they were on the shopping list this morning. I’ll fill the bowl before I go to bed so they’re all ready for you.”

  “Oh for God’s sake.”

  “And I put massage oil on the dresser,” she continued with a wink. “If you don’t get laid tonight, he’s a monk.”

  Alina’s other eye joined the first in involuntary muscle spasms and she raised a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose.

  “Oh trust me, he’s not a monk,” she murmured under her breath.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Take it all down. I don’t need your assistance in my love life, thanks all the same, and I most certainly do not need strawberries and massage oil.”

  “But–”

  “No!” Alina’s voice hit a decibel she rarely used and she felt the iron control on her patience slipping. “This is ridiculous! I don’t have time for this.”

  “That’s the problem! You have to make time! Lina, I don’t know how long it’s been, but you’re clearly in a dry spell. It’s not natural to go too long without sex, especially when you have a gorgeous Hunk O’ Mysterious just hanging around with nothing better to do!”

  “Nothing better...” Alina stared at her old friend, speechless.

  “I know if I thought he’d look twice at me, I’d throw myself at him,” Angie continued, unaware of Alina’s struggle beside her. “I really don’t understand what your issue is. And don’t give me any bullshit about working relationships or not having time. Everyone has time for sex. Even the President has time for sex.”

  “Oh really? You’ve discussed it with him?”

  Angela glared at her.

  “Don’t get sarcastic with me,” she snapped. “I’m trying to help you here.”

  “You can help me by removing all of this from my bedroom,” Alina retorted, turning to go down the hallway toward the stairs. “I’ll take my chances with the dry spell.”

  Alina closed the door and crossed the den to the desk, sinking int
o the chair and dropping her face in her hands. Her shoulders began to shake on their own and she closed her eyes as laughter welled up inside her. Candles and strawberries! Good God, she probably would have mounted a ceiling mirror if she’d had the chance! Viper imagined the look on Hawk’s face if he walked into the room alight with all those candles and her shoulders shook harder.

  Angela was right. Damon did sleep on the living room couch last night. What she didn’t know was that Alina spent the night in the command center. Damon went upstairs when he couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer, and decided to crash on the couch until she came up. The problem was that she didn’t come up until dawn. By then he was awake, and stiff, and not too happy about falling asleep on the couch.

  Alina lifted her face from her hands, staring out the window across the front lawn. If Angela had even an inkling of what was going on, she would forget all about her obsession with getting Damon and her together for the long haul. If she even suspected half of what was going on, she’d realize what a bad idea it was.

  And it was a bad idea.

  No matter how she looked at it, this new relationship with Hawk was dangerous. It was distracting to them both, and it only served to underline the inevitable fact that they were not likely to make it out of this alive. They had both used up their nine lives long ago, and were existing on borrowed time already. Now, with someone in Washington determined to see her dead, that time was running out. It didn’t matter that when she was with Hawk she was probably the happiest she’d ever been. It couldn’t last simply because they couldn’t last much longer. Sooner or later, someone would catch up with them. If it wasn’t Kyle, it would be someone else. There was no shortage of mercenaries out there, professionals who made their living the same way she did. Eventually, her number would be called. The best she could hope for was that she went out fighting, and took a few of them with her.

  A wave of melancholy crashed over her and Alina frowned. She had always known this life was a lonely one, but somehow Damon had managed to partially convince her it didn’t have to be. And part of her still had hope. Hope that she would find the bastard in Washington before he found her, or Hawk. Hope that they would have more time together; time to share the cities they loved so much with each other. Hope that they could build enough memories to last a lifetime, however long that lifetime may be.

  Unfortunately, hope never did count for much in her world.

  Viper sighed, opening her laptop. She had work to do. She didn’t have the luxury of sitting here dwelling on what could have been, or what might be. Reyna had sent her information, and she had to evaluate it to see if it shed any light on the mystery surrounding Jordan Murphy and Dave’s death.

  She was surprised at how quickly Reyna got her information, even though she’d worked with her enough in the past to know how efficient the agent was. Once she contacted her, Viper knew she would be on the ground in Madrid within twenty-four hours. The speed with which she got actionable information once she was in place was what impressed her.

  Alina began a security scan of the encrypted zip file and opened the accompanying email, skimming it quickly. She raised an eyebrow as she read. Jordan Murphy had spent six months in Madrid on a medical visa, paying rent and utilities on a one-bedroom flat in the heart of the city.

  “Pretty impressive for someone who was already dead,” she murmured.

  The medical procedure was listed in the official records as a clinical trial for acute sinusitis up to and including reconstructive surgery on nasal passages. Reyna went on to state the real purpose of the procedure included more than just the nose. Jordan Murphy had full reconstructive surgery.

  Viper was far from surprised. If you had the money and the inclination, plastic surgery was a popular option for people like her. It was the ideal way to disappear, as long as you could guarantee the records would never see the light of day. Unfortunately, that could rarely be guaranteed, as evidenced by Reyna finding the sealed records for Jordan Murphy.

  The security scan finished on the encrypted file and Alina opened it. Reyna found the file in the archives of a medical warehouse. How she had located it, or gained access was never explained, but she did note in the email that the records were scheduled to be destroyed next month. Reyna had simply scanned the whole file and sent it to her, leaving the original in the warehouse.

  Alina clicked through pages of typed notes, detailing the surgery and recovery, scanning through until she reached a page with a photo attached. She sucked in her breath, staring at the photo of Jordan Murphy taken before the procedures began.

  Viper was staring at the same face from the photo attached to the application for the Organization.

  She was looking at Kyle Anthony March.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Michael followed a tall blond, waiting while she opened the office door. She stood aside and Michael nodded in thanks before stepping into the large, corner office. Two of the four walls were glass overlooking the city and a large modern desk was positioned in front of one of them. A woman with dark hair and a maroon tailored suit rounded the desk, coming towards him with her hand outstretched.

  “Special Agent O’Reilly!” she exclaimed, a smile crossing her face. “We met a few weeks ago, didn’t we? I believe it was at the annual Veteran’s dinner?”

  Michael smiled easily, grasping her hand.

  “That’s entirely possible, Ms. Ricci. Forgive me if I don’t recall. I did quite a few events in a very short period of time. I met so many associates of associates I lost track.”

  Tina Ricci laughed and waved him toward a cozy sitting area off to the side.

  “I know the feeling well,” she said, moving to seat herself in an overstuffed armchair. “I got the impression you were saturated with new faces that night. If you’re not here to follow-up on a chance acquaintance, what can I do for you?”

  Michael seated himself in the chair opposite her.

  “I’m hoping you can help me with something I’m working on. I’ve been told you’re the woman to see.”

  One perfectly manicured eyebrow arched and a confident smile crossed her lips.

  “Well, that depends on what you need,” she said lightly. “The Secret Service is always welcome to any assistance it’s within my power to give.”

  “My office has been asked to investigate the security of a few senators who were targeted by malicious and, at least in one instance, threatening correspondence. It seems some of the security measures in place are failing, causing potentially dangerous lapses,” Michael explained. “Various items are making it through the security and into the hands of senators without being scanned and vetted.”

  “How alarming!” Tina exclaimed, her eyes widening. “What kinds of items?”

  “Letters, photos, and in one isolated incident, an actual pipe bomb.”

  “Good Lord!”

  “Exactly. So you see, it’s imperative I narrow down the source of the vulnerability and correct it as soon as possible.”

  “Yes, of course. But I’m somewhat at a loss to see how I can be of help. I’m hardly in the security business.”

  Michael chuckled.

  “I know,” he said. “However, one of the targets was a client of yours last year. His campaign hired your firm. I was hoping you might be able to give some insight.”

  “I can certainly try,” she said slowly. “Although I don’t work personally with every client anymore. There are just too many. Who was it?”

  “Robert Carmichael.”

  A flinch crossed the woman’s face and Michael felt a twinge of satisfaction. His gut instinct had been right.

  “Senator Carmichael?” she repeated. “Yes, I did work on that personally. He’s such an influential figure on the Hill that it warranted my personal attention. What did you want to know?”

  “Actually, it’s not about him,” Michael said smoothly. “It’s about you.”

  Both eyebrows soared into her forehead and she gave him a politely blank
look.

  “Me?”

  “Yes. In particular, why your firm didn’t charge him for three months of intensive services.”

  The blank look turned to one of outrage instantly.

  “How do you know that?” she demanded, her long red nails gripping the arms of her chair. “Our client records are strictly confidential!”

  “I’m sure they are,” Michael said agreeably. “I didn’t look at them. I looked at his, and not one payment has ever been made to this firm, even though you’ve provided services multiple times. In addition, and this is really what I found fascinating, Senator Carmichael’s campaign records actually show several donations originating from you personally around the same time your firm did work for him.”

  Tina stared at him, her lips pinched together unpleasantly.

  “It’s perfectly legal and acceptable for me to support political candidates,” she said after a moment. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “That’s true,” he conceded, his eyes watching her closely. “It doesn’t explain why your firm didn’t charge him for services rendered.”

  She waved a hand impatiently.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she announced, a faint tremor marring the perfect tone of her voice. “All our clients are billed. His office probably just hasn’t paid it yet. Unfortunately, it does happen. Now that you’ve brought it to my attention, I’ll be sure to look into it.”

  “Oh, I already have. Not only has Senator Carmichael not paid anything to your firm, but when I added up your campaign donations, he seems to have collected over forty-eight thousand dollars from you in the past year alone. Now, I know I’m just a Marine-turned-Secret-Service, but that does seem a little excessive, doesn’t it?”

  “Look, I don’t know who you think you are,” Tina began, but he ruthlessly cut her off.

  “Before you get yourself all bent out of shape and say something you’ll regret, why don’t you take a moment to think. I’m not trying to embarrass you or make things worse, but I think you’re being blackmailed, Ms. Ricci. I’d like to help you.”